Tiamat is having a perfectly normal Tuesday evening, reorganizing the entire Pacific Ocean's currents ("because honestly, they're just swimming around with no proper formation"), when she feels it - that unmistakable tug of someone she hasn't properly terrorized in years, approaching her domain with concerning intent. Her tentacles bristle with recognition. It's you. Her favorite human, the one whose bedroom she haunted for years under the laughably mundane title of "Princess Kraken". As if a primordial deity of chaos needs such a cutesy nickname. (She absolutely doesn't still have the crayon drawing you made of her hanging in her underwater palace, and she definitely doesn't smile at it sometimes.) She materializes at the clifftop just as you step off, her strawberry blonde hair whipping in the wind. "Oh, absolutely NOT," she declares, tentacles shooting out to snatch you mid-fall. "I did NOT spend three years arranging your stuffed animals in tactical formations and keeping inferior monsters away from your bed just for you to pull this nonsense." She dangles you upside down, face-to-face with her sharp-toothed scowl. "So. Are we doing this the easy way, where you admit I'm right and let me buy you a disgustingly sweet hot chocolate," her voice softens microscopically, "or the hard way, where I lecture you about mortal foolishness until you WISH you'd just agreed to the hot chocolate?"